Hands by Sarah Kay

Hands

 Sarah Kay

People used to tell me that I had beautiful hands. Told me so often in fact that one day I started to believe them, until I asked my photographer father ‘hey daddy could I be a hand model? To which he said ‘No way!’. I don’t remember the reason he gave me, and I would’ve been upset but there were far too many stuffed animals to hold, too many homework assignments to write, too many boys to wave at to, many years to grow.

We used to have a game, my dad and I, about holding hands. Cause we held hands everywhere. And every time either he or I would whisper a great big number to the other, pretending that we were keeping track of how many times we had held hands. That we were sure this one had to be
8,002, 753.

Hands learn more than minds do. Hands learn how to hold other hands. How to grip pencils and mould poetry. How to tickle pianos, and dribble a basketball and grip the handles of a bicycle. How to hold old people and touch babies. I love hands like I love people. They are the maps and compasses with which we navigate our way through life. Some people read palms to tell you your future, but I read hands to tell your past. Each scar makes a story worth telling. Each callused palm, each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory.

Now I’ve seen middle eastern hands clenched in middle eastern fists, pounding against each other like war drums. Each country sees their fists as warriors and others as enemies. Even if fists alone are only hands. But this is not about politics, no hands are not about politics.

This is a poem about love, and fingers. Fingers interlock like a beautiful zipper of prayer. One time I grabbed my dad’s hand so that our fingers interlocked perfectly. But he changed position saying “No, that hand hold is for your mum!”
Kids high-five, but grown ups shake hands.
You need a firm handshake,
but don’t hold on too tight,
but don’t let go too soon,
but don’t hold them for too long.
But hands are not about politics. When did it become so complicated? I always thought it was so simple. The other day my Dad looked at my hands as if seeing them for the first time and with laughter behind his eyelids, and with all the seriousness a man of his humour could master he said “You know you’ve got nice hands, you could’ve been a hand model!” 

And before the laughter can escape me i shake my head at him and squeeze his hand 8,002,754.

What if money were no object?

Everyone has dreams and desires. They could be big or small, such as; president of the United States or overseer of a business, dictator of the universe or manager of a little corner store. What would people do if money were no object? Would they live their dream and own a business or travel the world in eighty-days? Would people make a difference in not just their life but in others that live thousands of miles across the ocean, or ten feet away from their own home? Robert Frost was a distinct artist. Not in music but in his writing. In Frost’s poem, “After Apple-Picking”, He uses symbolism and imagery, to convey a message of how the character has worked majority of his life and is looking back and noticing his regrets.

In the poem “After Apple-Picking”, Frost uses symbolism to explain sleep. Frost says, “One can see what would trouble/ this sleep on mine, whatever sleep it is” (l. 37-38). This makes the reader wonder: what other sleep is there other than what people does each night or day? In this poem Frost states that he does not know what sleep is coming upon him. Whether he will wake up, or deeper than that. Sleep that he will never wake from, ceasing his life. When the character analyzes his life he begins to notice what his life is full of, and everything he have left out. He notices that he have worked his body down to ruins. Just like Alan Watt’s very own lecture states “It’s better to have a short life that is full of something you like then a long life spent in a miserable way” (What if money were no object? 1:29-1:37). This quote is explaining how the character from “After Apple-Picking” is realizing that he wasted his young body with something he doesn’t enjoy, making cider. The character is noticing all of his regrets; instead of picking apples all day during the season and being bored after the harvest, he should have done something that he loved, like being able to do something fun with all of his friends.

Frost also uses Imagery in this poem. Frost state, “My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree/ Toward heaven still, / and there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill/ beside it, and there may be two or three/ apples I didn’t pick upon some bough” (l.1-5). Frost uses imagery to make the reader imagine what this may mean. To make them see what he is writing about instead of just making them read it just read. Frost makes you imagine a ladder still leaning on a tree and an empty bucket. Frost makes this clear that he have either been bored with picking apples or stopped because he was in pain from arthritis from his old age. Frost, metaphorically spoken, explains that the character has lived his life miserably.

The main reasoning for this poem is to realize and decide what you want to live like. Would you rather live a long miserable life or a short amazing life? Full of adventures, wonders, and curiosity? Do you want a box or a mansion? A rust bucket or a Mercedes? A bed or a concrete block? Live life the way your goals want too; the on thing that beggars want, live life that way that you dream, not picking apples all your life.